Monday, January 2, 2017

Suffering

I was thinking about suffering the
other day, while I was sitting in a cafe in Quan Son the other night,
just after it became dark, watching small children, some as young as
toddlers, playing and frolicking in the middle of the main highway
which runs right through the center of the town, in the dark. They
seemed quite unconcerned about playing on the highway, and never even
seemed to think about moving as any vehicles approached, unless they
were totally blocking the vehicles' passage, in which case they moved
their play just a little bit out of the way so the vehicle would have
enough room to pass. Even the smallest children adhered to this
protocol, as if it were innate. And they were also quite
unsupervised and unmolested by any of the adults, who might have been
in the general vicinity, but didn't involve themselves in the
childrens' activity at all, other than an occasional communication or
a call to dinner. There were also animals such as cows, goats, ducks
and dogs milling around on the same highway. Any vehicles that
approached just behaved like this was to be expected, and just
altered their speed and their path to avoid the children and animals.

It is one of the main tenets of
Buddhism that suffering is an inexorable part of the human condition.
Humans will simply suffer, that is just a given. Yet not a single
child playing on the highway seemed to be suffering in the slightest;
their activity seemed like it was the opposite of suffering, or at
least relieving their suffering. In the United States, if a toddler
was playing on the highway, unsupervised, everybody involved in such
activity or even tangential to it would have a probability of being
put through some deep suffering. The driver would not expect the
child and might hit her. The child could be grievously injured. The
child's parents would possibly hear from the authorities and might
even face jail time. Bystanders would be agitated by the sight of
the child playing unconcerned on the highway, and even more agitated
if the child was injured. No parent in the US would tell their child
to go play on the highway unless it were tinged with sarcasm, and
every child would understand that any such advice was in jest.

Yet here I was in the only night I
spent in Quan Son, watching children happily play on the highway that
was the lifeline of transportation for this town. Thinking about how
sometimes things can be upside down from an outsider's perspective.
Thinking that things are often not what they seem. Wondering if some
of the things people do to try to relieve their suffering actually
increases their suffering, and that maybe it is best to just accept
your suffering, and flow with it, and make it work for you, rather
than trying to devise strategies to fight against it. Because how
can you fight against something that is an unchangeable part of your
condition?

I slept at the hotel I was staying at
in Quan Son, and then took off the next day for Laos. There was a lot
of uncertainty for me as I headed down the road, Highway QL217. But
I guess one of the ways to get to certainty is to follow uncertainty
and see how it resolves itself. But in facing my uncertainty I made
some mistakes that led me to a certainty that was a bad result,
though I did reach some certainties that were good results. And it
was raining, and it ended up raining for most of my journey, which
was exactly the condition I didn't want to face when roads could be
washed out or otherwise made more dangerous by the rain.

Mistake #1 was not leaving early
enough. I had no idea if the crossing was open on New Year's Day, or
even if the road would succesfully lead me there (as I explained in
my last blog post). But I did know from information I found online
that the crossing was closed from 11:30 am to 1:00 pm, so I didn't
want to arrive during those times. I figured that rather than barely
arriving during the end of the morning open time, it would be better
to arrive right after the crossing was reopened in the afternoon.

Mistake #2 was vastly underestimating
the time it would take me to get there. And I really should have
known better about that. I already knew that I was facing an
unfamiliar road, so I should have estimated that it would take me
longer. And it did take me longer, probably an hour and a half
longer than I thought it would.

The road on the Vietnam side was
surprisingly not so bad. Sure, it had a few stretches of some pretty
dodgy conditions, but on the whole, it was not terrible. But it was
definitely slow to move through, because there were a lot of
switchbacks, and lot of climbing and descending, and other conditions
that made it so speed was not a smart idea.

There was not a lot between Quan Son
and Na Meo, which was the last town in Vietnam before the border.
There were some smatterings of huts, and a few small villages, but on
the whole the stretch was fairly desolate. I arrived at the border
station between Vietnam and Laos, which actually is several
kilometers inside the Laos border according to my map, at around
2:30.

Mistake #3, and this was probably my
biggest mistake, was not planning out what I would do after I passed
through the border. I had been so consumed with whether or not the
road in Vietnam would pan out that I failed to consider what I would
do or where I would go once I got to Laos. So I tried to plan out a
route through Laos on Google Maps when I got to Na Meo, as I still
had my Vietnamese cell signal there. But that was when I found out
that Laos is one of those countries that Google Maps does not fully
work in. I should have considered that possibility too. Google Maps
does not fully work in South Korea, either, and maybe one or two
other countries I've been in. Sure, it will show you the roads, but
it won't guide you through your route the whole way like it does in
many countries, and tell you how far you have to go to the next
direction, and so on.

But I did determine that I could make
it to Viang Xai once I was in Laos, and I recognized that name from
previous research that I had done on Laos. So Viang Xai it was. It
looked like it was stretching it to get there during daylight. But
there were a number of villages on the map before Viang Xai, and
surely one of them would have a guesthouse to stay at if I could not
get as far and Viang Xai. Or at least that was my reasoning at the
time.

When I arrived at the Vietnam side of
the border, the process was fairly straightforward. They had to
process me for exiting the country, so I had to go through passport
control. For some reason, the process was longer for me than it was
for many Vietnamese and Laotians who passed through. They got a
basic wave-through, but my processing took more time. But it was
still faster than most borders I have passed through. Then I had to
get a customs declaration form for my motorbike, which I had to pay
200,000 dong for. And the official asked me what currency I wanted
to pay in before quoting me that price. Once again, that was pretty
straightforward, and they waved me through to the Laos side of the
border after one more official checking to see that all the papers I
had gotten were in order.

When I arrived at the Laos side, it
took a little bit longer, but not much longer. I first had to go to
the visa on arrival window, because I hadn't procured a visa in
advance, but I had heard that the visa on arrival was easy to get at
the border (it's not so going the other way, you absolutely have to
have procured your visa beforehand when going over land from Laos to
Vietnam). They had me fill out a couple of forms, and then they
motioned me to the next office, where they checked out the customs
declaration form that I had just gotten from the Vietnam side, and
the rest of my documents, to make sure they were in order. Then they
sent me back to the visa on arrival window, and had me wait a while
while a guy in a leather jacket came to ask me some questions. The
questioning was very informal and cordial, and seemed mostly aimed at
determining that I was actually going to leave Laos before my visa
ran out. Then the guy told me it was 45 dollars in US currency for
the visa on arrival, and to go to the window to pay it. I was ready
for that and had forty-five bucks in two crisp twenties and a five.
Well, they inspected that money closely. Two officials felt each
bill individually several different ways, they shook the bills in the
air to see how they behaved when they shook them, and they held them
up to the light. When they had performed all the rituals with the
money to their satisfaction, they placed the visa sticker in my
passport and told me I was ready to go.

So I was in Laos! I was elated to be
in the next country on my journey. The mountains on the Laos side
were even taller than the ones in Vietnam. I was welcomed by a
committee of cows on the road shortly after leaving the border
station. It seemed that, in general, there were even more animals
wandering the road than in Vietnam. But the roads were really bad.
Not as bad as the one road that I took for a short time in Vietnam
the day before and abandoned, but bad for long stretches of desolate road, and so I really had to take my time on those
roads.

As I said, Google Maps didn't fully
work in Laos, so I was mostly on my own for route planning and paying
attention to where the turns were. Luckily it was mostly one road
the whole way. But the weather was bad, and the roads were bad, so
it was some pretty slow moving. Lots of mud and ruts and washouts
and potholes and bumps and the like, and almost all the time, it was
raining. Since it was raining, I had my phone with the GPS from
Google Maps in a baggie on the mount on by handlebars. The mount on
my handlebars was sort of like a hairclip that I clipped my phone
into, and it was bolstered by some rubber bands for strength. But
the rubber bands had been wearing out, and with all the jolts on the
Laotian roads, each one, one by one, snapped and eventually my phone
was only being held by the clip. That seemed to mostly be enough,
but I did notice my phone slowly sliding out of the clip, and I
recentered it several times, so there really wasn't enough holding
power in it for these rough roads.

As I passed through through village
after village, it didn't seem that any of them had any hotels or
guesthouses, so I was starting to worry that I might not be able to
find a place to stay. I didn't even know if I could recognize a
hotel, because everything was in Laotian script. I had already
driven more than I felt comfortable with in a day, and was ready to
stop, but just could not find a place to stop. Plus it didn't seem
like my GPS was moving. I looked at the map quite a while after I
had looked at it the last time, and it seemed like I was still in the
same place. And I really didn't know how far it still was to Viang
Xai. I would try to eyeball it using the distance marker on the
legend, but then the next time, it seemed to be farther than it was
the last time, and this was freaking me out a little bit. It was
approaching darkness, and I really did not want to be driving in the
pitch black countryside on a crappy road that had animals on it
everywhere with very poor headlights on my Vietnamese bike. So I
kept trying to keep an eye out for the left turn I was supposed to
make, but never found it. The next time I looked at the map, I had
passed it by quite a ways, apparently, but saw there was another way
to get to Viang Xai via the next left turn. I was really freaking
out at this point. It was starting to get dark, I didn't know for
sure how far I was from the town, and I didn't want to get caught in
the darkness. So I started stepping it up a little, hopefully still
being safe, but definitely going faster.

I started noticing that there were
kilometer markers on the side of the road marking the distance to
Viang Xai about thirty kilometers away. It made me feel a little
more at ease to know where I was, but it was still uncertain how long
it would take me, because I had no idea what kind of road conditions
I would have. When I saw that I was only fifteen kilometers away,
darkness was definitely falling and I had a heavy sense of urgency.

Right after that fifteen kilometer mark
was when all hell suddenly broke loose. I hit a rut, and my phone
went flying out of the clip holding it. I braked and tried to catch
it, right as I hit a mudslide and my bike went out of control. I
crashed the bike, and I hit the ground. I got myself up pretty
quickly and did an inventory to assess my injuries. There was a lot
of blood, and I was covered in mud. Both of my hands were completely
covered in blood. I could see blood seeping through my pants at the
right knee. I tested my right leg, and I could walk on it OK, and
move it OK. I felt pain in my right elbow, but it was moving OK,
though I didn't see any blood there. I saw my phone in the road and
went to retrieve it. It was OK, just a little dent in a corner and
maybe a small blemish on the screen.

A crowd of villagers from the village I
was passing through had now gathered in a circle around me. I wanted
to ask for help, but neither they nor I could communicate. I just
looked at my hands covered in blood as the blood dripped down, and I
couldn't even tell where it was coming from, though my palms and my
hands hurt.

Finally a man motioned to me to come
inside his hut. I tried to pick up my bike, but couldn't. A couple
of bystanders helped me lift it, and he motioned to me to bring it up
toward his house, but there was too much mud in his driveway, and I
couldn't move it past it. I was starting to shiver from shock and he
motioned to me to just leave it where it was. A woman brought out
some leaves and showed them to me; I guess they were some local
herbal cure. An old woman in the hut heated some water on a fire,
and then the man took it off the fire and mixed it with some colder
water to give me some warm water to wash my hands with. I washed my
hands, and saw that they were covered with abrasions, and there were
some deep ones at the base of both of my palms.

I sat there for a few minutes trying to
figure out what to do. It wasn't getting any lighter, and it was
pretty dark. Finally, I told them, “I go”, and made a motion
with my hands that I was going to leave and got up. The man seemed
concerned, but he nodded his head. I really needed more care than I
could get in the hut, though they were terribly kind and did their
best. But I didn't know if my bike would start or move. I went to
the bike, and it started up, though the handlebars were tilted on
their axis quite a bit, and were off-kilter, so now the light was
pointing at about one o'clock instead of straight ahead. I
tentatively took off on my bike as a bunch of mud kicked out from
between the wheels and the fenders that had apparently gotten lodged
there in the wreck. The bike seemed like it was running OK, though
it was now dark, and the light was not pointing forward, so I
couldn't see hardly at all. I just kept driving slowly, just
emotionally numb, following the kilometer markers and hoping I would
make it OK to the town. I couldn't grip the handlebars with my whole
hands because of the injuries, so I was holding them with my fingers,
which also had some abrasions on them.

Finally, I don't know how much time had
passed, but I saw a big sign pointing to the left turn to Viang Xai,
saying the town was a kilometer away. I turned down the street and
saw lights. One of the first places I saw was a big building; I was
hoping it was a hotel so I slowed down to inspect it closer, and I
saw a sign that said, “Hospital” in English. I breathed a sigh
of relief and turned into the parking lot.

There were a couple of nurses who
looked like they were on break, and there didn't seem to be any other
patients there. I walked up to them and said, “Please help me,”
and showed them my bloody palms, and I pointed to my blood-soaked
pants. They led me into the hospital, and motioned to me to get on a
table. I wanted to take my clothes off so I could see what the
injuries were to my knee and elbow, because I still had not seen
them. A doctor came in, and I motioned to take off my pants, and he
nodded. So I took off my pants, then my jacket, then my shirt jacket
and my t-shirt. They started working on me right away, cleaning up
blood and, to my chagrin, snipping away tissue. I was shaking and my
teeth were shattering from shock. They cleaned and disinfected, and
dressed my wounds. I had a big abrasion on my knee, one on my elbow,
and the injuries on my hands, and various small cuts in other places.
At least one limb, my left leg, was completely unaffected. They had
me shake everything and bear weight on everything to make sure
nothing more serious was going on, I did that and gave them the
thumbs-up.

The doctor called me over to a desk
near the exit, and he gave me three different kinds of pills, with
instructions written on them to take them twice a day. One of them
had “ampicillin” written on it, but the other two I had to look
up online from the markings on the pills to figure out what they
were. One was just 500 mgs of Naproxen, and another was some sort of
bacterial enzyme that they don't use in the first world that fights
inflammation. He handed me an itemized bill written in Laotian, and
it came to 90,000 kip, or around eleven dollars. I paid the fee and
made repeated bowing motions to everybody with my hands clasped,
thank you, thank you, thank you so much.

I then went down the street looking for
a hotel. I was worried that covered in mud and blood, it might be
difficult to find a place. The first place I stopped at didn't want
anything to do with me. They waved me off aggressively, so I left.
Then I stopped at a hotel down the street, and the guy was very
welcoming. He was Vietnamese, and spoke a little English. Very
little, probably about as much as I speak Vietnamese, so between the
two of us, we communicated sufficiently. I told him I had just
wrecked my bike and he gave me a compassionate look. He led me to
the hotel room, it seemed like either I was the only person staying
there, or at least the only one with a vehicle.

I had not eaten all day, so I asked him
if there was a restaurant. He said “everything closed”
(apparently everything in this town is closed by seven or so at
night), but he led me to a Vietnamese restaurant owned by some
friends of his and he said they would make me pho. I was so happy to
see the food and I scarfed it all down, then I went back to the hotel
to collapse in exhaustion onto the bed. I tried to find a way to lie
down where I would not leave blood on the bed, but I had to cover up,
because the room was cold and there was no heater. The next morning,
I saw just a few tiny smudges of blood on the bed. But then I
remembered I had some hydrogen peroxide that I mix with baking soda
to brush my teeth with, and that I had used that before to remove
small blood stains. It worked like a charm, probably because the
blood stains were not that old.

So now, I'm in my own realm of suffering. Really, I'm at peace with it, mostly. I'm OK, or at least I will be, I hope. Or I won't, but either way I don't have much control. All I can do is dress my wounds, change my plan in accordance with the new conditions, and keep going.